So the walls really were listening. One way or another.
“Once,” Cecily leaned closer, “we heard two of the maids talking in the middle of the night. Was it two months ago?” She looked at her sister, who nodded. “Two months ago. They were talking about something they saw.” Her voice dropped lower. “A girl—or a woman—walking through the halls at night. Wearingonly a nightgown. Pale. Drifting like fog.” She paused, taking a dramatic breath. “Like a memory.”
Myra shook her head beside her and kept scribbling on the paper.
“They said she talked. No—screamed.Help me! Help me!” Cecily opened her mouth in a silent wail, her eyes wide and unblinking.
A chill rippled down my back. I couldn’t help but think of last night. Of my mum. It couldn’t be her, could it?
“Have you seen her?” I asked, my voice tight, my chest even more so.
Cecily’s grin widened. “No silly. Probably just a ghost story.” Then her tone shifted, the smile warping into something that bit. “But if you ever see glowing eyes like fire, run.” She laughed, sharp and sudden, and I arched a brow.
She was weird. Still, I couldn’t decide what to believe.
Myra sighed beside her. “Cecily.”
My fingers twisted the green aventurines on my bracelet. They were freezing cold beneath my sleeve.
Glowing eyes like fire.
I peered up at the manor, at the gargoyles and their own watchful gazes.
“I call that one Gormogon,” Myra said, and as I looked at her, I realized she meant one of the gargoyles.
“Why?” I asked.
She bit the inside of her cheek, her eyes still on the gargoyle. “He has that look about him,” she said at last, just before a loud clack broke through the stillness of the garden.
I turned my head in time to see a small gate creak open, its iron hinges groaning like they hadn’t been moved in years. A man in a crisp grey suit stepped through. He had an umbrella in one hand, the other resting in his coat pocket, as he headed towards Lilian with confident strides.
“Who’s that?” I asked, shifting on the bench, my eyes focused on the tall figure.
“Hudson Lamont,” the twins said in eerie sync.
The name meant nothing to me. “Is he someone important?” I asked, sucking the inside of my cheek, my eyes narrowing.
“He’s one of Lilian’s business partners,” Myra explained, adjusting the hem of her sleeve.
“She has business partners?” I hadn’t read anything about that. The article never really mentioned how the family maintained its wealth.
“Three.” Cecily chimed. “Two,” she corrected herself at the same time Myra did.
Their eyes flicked to each other with a look I couldn’t grasp, then Myra returned to her papers. I peeked at Preston from the corner of my eye, but he didn’t so much as glance up from his book.
“Elodie!” Lilian’s voice rang through the garden, and I ripped my gaze away from the blonde boy.
Hudson Lamont was now standing beside her, holding his umbrella under his arm and fiddling with something on his little finger. Lilian’s eyes were on me as she raised her hand and waved me closer. My stomach curled into a nervous ball, and I debated whether I should listen to her or not. But her eyes stayed fixated like the gargoyles’ sitting high on the walls—stone-like and unnerving—until my skin started to itch and I pushed myself to my feet. Only then, after making sure I was on my way, did she look away. I navigated around the thorny plants frozen into the soil and stopped beside the two adults.
“Hudson, I wanted you to meet a very special person.” She lightly placed a hand on my shoulder, yet her touch felt heavy on me. “My granddaughter. Elodie Thornbury.” She spoke the last name pointedly, and the nervous ball jumped into my throat. “This is?—”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elodie,” the man said, extending his hand and cutting Lilian short. My gaze flicked between the two of them, realising just now the powerplay that lingered in the air. “I’m Hudson Lamont,” he said as I accepted his hand.
White sunlight broke against a silver ring on his pinkie. Probably a signet ring, but he withdrew his hand before I could have a better look. From this close, he looked to be in his mid-forties, around my mum’s age. It was foolish to think they could’ve known each other, but still?—
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small box wrapped in azure blue paper. Then, to my utter shock, he held it out to me.
“For you,” he said, his sapphire blue eyes leaping over my face, analysing, like he was trying to see something he wasn’t sure was there. “I assure you, it does not bite,” he added, a faint flicker of humour behind his words at my hesitation.
